In The Light
by Auburn And Green
Summary: They didn't have to carry their loads alone. They were too stubborn to see it--but they didn't have to. They had each other, always had. Follows starting S2.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of it's characters, etc. **

* * *

"_Look, I know I usually work jobs alone and I'm not gone long, but this one is just…something that needs an extra hand, and I don't know how long I'll be. I don't want you all alone, is all."_

_Tired blue eyes were staring out the rainy windows of the old Dodge pickup—once a nice firetruck red, but now just rusted and worn down to what should be it's last couple of years. The eyes didn't shift at the voice, barely acknowledging it. All Paul Davis could do was guess what his daughter would say—for the past year and a half, it'd been difficult to get more than a couple sentences from her, so guessing was his only option, in most cases._

"_We'll be as quick as we can, Jules. I promise. But until then, you're staying with John's boys and that's final."_

_Nothing._

* * *

"_Paul, hey," John said with a nod, opening the door to the motel room. His jacket was already on—he looked ready to go. Paul and John had met not all that long ago, and they weren't brotherly or all that close—but, at the very least, they trusted each other enough to work with each other on a job. And, even if it wasn't something they vocalized that often, they had something in common._

_Their kids._

_Julie had met John once, briefly, when he'd stopped by one of their apartments—sometimes, she got to stick around a place longer than 2 or 3 weeks—for some bit of information or another. She hardly knew the gruff and, frankly, intimidating man. As for his sons? She'd never even met them. But her dad had no other option, this time._

"_John," he said, nodding back._

"_Hello, Julie." John looked down at the quiet girl—he'd never heard her speak. He didn't know the Davis' story—not being the heart to heart type, he and Paul had never gotten to into it—but he knew that her mother wasn't around, and that she was quiet. That was about it. She gave him a half-assed smile as a hello—he took it. _

"_Dean, Sam, get over here," he said. Julie shifted the bags in her hands, still showing no emotion nor saying a word. The older one rolled his eyes, shutting off the TV, and the younger one—he looked about her age—got off one of the beds, where he was reading a book. To Kill A Mockingbird, she could tell from the cover._

"_Boys, this is Julie. Julie, these are my boys, Dean, the older one, and Sam." _

_Again, the half assed-smile. Dean looked less than enthusiastic—really, he thought looking after Sammy was enough, but apparently babysitting was his goddamn middle name, now—and Sam looked shy. Kind of like her._

_She didn't mind_

* * *

"_Look. I don't care what you do, honestly, just don't stay out all night and…don't bring back guys, I guess. And don't touch my food."_

"_Dean, she's eleven," Sam said, giving his brother a look—Dean was in a mood, and thirteen year old Sam was embarrassed for the girl. And she didn't really say much—anything, actually._

"_Whatever." He sat down on the couch—a fancy motel, apparently—and went back to his show. _

"_Sorry about Dean. He's not always that bad," Sam said. She nodded. He felt awkward. Why didn't she talk? "So…do you want something to eat?"_

_She shook her head. What was with the mute act? "Oh, okay. Um, well, there's only two beds…but there's the couch, too, so, I, um…"_

"_I'll take the couch," she piped in. His eyebrows raised a little—her voice was small, like he'd expected, but still, she surprised him just by speaking. He nodded._

* * *

_Dean was dozing in and out of a slumber on the couch—her bed—and Sam was reading. Again. She'd been sitting at the table with the journal her dad had given her—though he thought she had no clue, she'd overheard the doctor saying it might be helpful to give her a journal and let her talk that way—for over an hour, now. She hadn't written a damn thing._

_All the pages were blank._

_She sighed, closing it. Boredom wasn't something new to her, and neither was silence. But she wasn't a mute—she could speak. She just chose not to._

_Most times._

"_What're you reading?" She stood at the side of the bed where Sam sat, Indian-style, with the book in his lap. He looked up, surprised—that same look, again._

_He held the book up, showing it to her—just like she'd guessed. "It's one of my favorites. You ever read it?"_

_She nodded, "One of mine, too." Still, she showed little to no emotion, but Sam smiled anyway. He looked at the leather book in her hands. "What's that?"_

_She looked down at her hands, before holding the book out to him. He took it, looking to her for a moment, curiously, before slowly opening it and flipping the pages—all blank. Confused, he looked to her, again. "A…blank journal?"_

"_Don't have much to write about," she shrugged. She made Sam curious—very curious. He couldn't figure her out._

"_Mmm, Ginger, baby…"_

_Both kids turned their heads at the moaning—Dean, asleep again, was grinning. Sam rolled his eyes, before pausing—he swore he saw the twitch of a smile on her face._

"_C'mon. Let's get some snacks," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the door—the vending machine was outside, only a few doors down—Dean would never know they were gone. There was a shock when he touched her hand. She hadn't expected it. She wasn't used to it._

_She followed, her hand still in his._

* * *

_Day Three. John and Paul were still out on the job—they'd gotten a call the day before, from Paul, saying they were fine, they'd be only a couple days more, at most. The call was from a payphone—it was brief, but enough to settle the kids' minds. _

_Dean was out with Kelly or Candy, something preppy and fake sounding like that. Being February, it was school vacation, but Dean had met her at a diner or something like that—he always found a way. His badboy attitude made it easy for him, Julie noticed. And his dedication to the chase, of course._

"_I think I want to be…a vet when I grow up. Or a lawyer. Something like that," Sam said. Him and Julie were sitting on the floor of their room, between the beds, eating more snacks they'd stocked up on. Julie still wasn't chatty Cathy, but she liked Sam. Talking to him felt normal. He knew about hunting, which meant no need to be careful with words, and he didn't know all about her past, which meant no pity and sympathy, and he was her age, which made him more relatable. Mostly, he was nice._

"_Not a hunter?" she asked, popping a piece of Smartfood into her mouth. He frowned, giving a small shrug._

"_Nah. My dad wants me to be one, I think, but…" He trailed off. She didn't pry. _

"_I think I'd like to be a doctor," she said, quietly, looking at her small toes, and not at him. She gave no further reasoning, and Sam had learned that she said what she said, and nothing more. He didn't push—he knew she didn't talk much, so he took what he got._

"_Well, I think you'd be a good doctor," he said, smiling a little. She looked up at him, a few stray pieces of brown hair falling onto her face, and he felt even better seeing an actual smile on her lips, too. He didn't see that much, if at all._

" _I think you'd be a good vet, too. Or a lawyer."_

"_Thanks, Julie."_

* * *

_The hot cocoa was warm in their hands—mittens weren't exactly something they'd fit in their minimal wardrobes, and the air was brisk. The lobby in the main part of the motel had coffee and cocoa machines, though, as Sam and Julie had found that afternoon. They sat on the curb, right in front of their room, sipping at the scalding liquid sip by sip._

"_So, what happened to your mom?" Sam asked, breaking their small silence. It wasn't an awkward silence—oddly enough, it was comfortable between them. But it was a question that had been on his mind since she arrived. He knew his dad had his reasons for all this—he wondered what the Harpers' were._

_She was looking ahead, and her gaze stayed fixed there. "It's just me and my dad." She made it a point to keep her answer that simple, even if it didn't really answer anything for him. He furrowed his brows._

"_She wasn't around or something?"_

_He'd never seen her mad. Hell, he'd barely seen her with any emotion besides stoicism, aside from the occasional smile or grin. But he thought that her snap was a sign of anger—or something like it._

"_It's just me and my dad," she snapped, looking at him finally. His brows relaxed, out of their furrowed position, and his jaw shut. He bowed his head, looking at his Styrofoam cup._

"_I'm sorry," he said, quietly. She bit her lip a little. She didn't mean to act like that—not to Sam. He was, after all, her only real friend. _

"_What happened to your mom?" she asked, quietly, her voice sounding caring, even. He looked at her, again, surprised by her—it wasn't the first time, that was for sure. She'd seemingly forgiven and forgotten, already. It left him even more curious, but he didn't push—he wasn't an idiot. He looked away, out at the mostly empty parking lot._

"_She died when I was a baby," he finally admitted. He'd never talked about it, really, except for the questions he'd asked Dean when he was old enough to realize their lack of a mother. It was foreign for him—no one ever really asked, and the very few kids who'd ever asked him where his mom was got a simple, 'She's not around.'_

"_There was a house fire, and she didn't make it out in time. My dad says it was some…demon. I don't know. He won't talk about what happened—Dean told me what I know—but I know if there's anything my dad wants, it's to get the thing that did it to her."_

_It was more than he'd ever spilled to anyone—he was surprised at himself when he'd realized all that'd come out of his mouth. He'd never said it all outloud before. Dean got annoyed, or something, whenever he wanted to talk about it, and he knew enough not to bring up his mother around his dad. And there was no one else. _

_Suddenly, he felt a warm hand grab one of his from his cup, locking her fingers with his. He looked at the hands, before looking up at Julie. She had a sympathetic look on her face—he could tell one when he saw one._

_She understood more than he knew._

"_I'm really sorry, Sam. That's terrible," she said. Her voice was always quiet, but this time it seemed…softer. He gave her a sad sort of…half-assed smile. A lot like most of her smiles._

"_It's okay. I don't remember any of it."_

"_Still," she said. _

_For a minute, or two, or maybe even more, who knows, they sat there. She was looking into his brownish eyes, as if reading him, and he looked back into her blues, curious as could be._

_And even when they finally looked away, their hands stayed locked, both content with the comfort of their new friend._

* * *

"_Well, Dean, thank you. For looking after my little girl."_

"_It was no problem. Really," Dean said, shaking the man's hand. Julie, standing with Sam a few feet off, rolled her eyes at Sam. She was smiling some—since that day a few days ago, when he'd first seen her smile, she'd done it more. He liked it when she did._

"_So. I guess this is goodbye," Sam said. It was more sad than he thought it'd be, or let on to be—he didn't get much company besides Dean, didn't make many friends at his schools for this reason—to avoid sad goodbyes. _

"_Yeah. I guess it is." Maybe she didn't let it show, but this wasn't something she liked—she didn't have any friends, really. Not anymore. She didn't stick around many places long enough to make them, and even if she did, she didn't really talk to anyone._

_But she'd talked to Sam._

_She took a breath before stepping forward, pulling Sam into a hug. For a second, he was stunned before he returned it, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Paul watched, in complete shock, as his daughter not only spoke but made contact with someone else—something he hadn't seen in months._

"_Thank you." _

_He didn't know what she was thanking him for, exactly, while they were in the hug, but he had some idea. He pulled away, still smiling a little. "We'll see each other again, sometime. I'm sure."_

"_I hope so. Bye, Sam."_

_He watched as her and her dad left, closing the door behind them. She gave a short wave to the Winchesters before it closed, and he tried to give one in return, but it was closed. _

"_Bye, Julie," he said quietly, as if she could hear him. _

"_Aww, lil Sammy's got a girlfriend," Dean teased, ruffling his hair. John shook his head with a small smirk before going over to one of the beds, looking for some much needed rest. He collapsed onto it with a small thud._

"_Shut up, Dean."_


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of it's characters, etc.**

**Still uncertain as to how I feel about how this chapter came out. I've changed it around so many times, but I finally just decided to leave it as is. Hopefully it's not too bad.**

* * *

"Sonuvabitch."

Julie looked down at the deep incision on her arm—long, deep, and bleeding. It'd be a bitch to deal with by the time she got to it. Pressure would have to do for now—properly cleaning it up had to wait. She sighed, going out to her now useless car and rummaging through her bags, looking for a worn shirt. She ripped part of it off, wrapping it around and tying tight, using her free hand and her teeth.

_Fuck. The car._

Her old Mercury Comet, black and a beauty in it's prime, was a wreck. The doors, the windshield, the hood, the windows…all of them were smashed in, the windows broken to pieces and shattered everywhere. She went around to the hood, opening the mangled piece with some difficulty before looking inside.

"Goddamn sonuvabitch!" she all but yelled. She fumed for a minute, kicking the car and running her hands through her hair before wincing—her damn arm, too.

She dug through her jacket pocket—a jacket she loved which was now goddamn ripped—and pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts and hitting the green send button when she landed on the one she knew she could depend on—that list was few and scarce.

"Bobby, hey. Look, sorry I haven't called in awhile..I've just been…y'know. I was actually kind of hoping you could help me out, though…"

* * *

The sun was beating down on Dean Winchester's back, hot and bothering, while he kneeled by his baby's back right wheel. Well, it wasn't exactly his baby—not in the mess it was in, now—but it was getting there. He was taking care, like he told his dad he would, all those years ago, when his dad had trusted him with it.

"_Dean, listen to me. You wreck this car, and I'll wreck you. It's not some piece of junk—this is a real car. You understand me?"_

"_Yes sir."_

He'd been so much younger. His dad was letting him take on more hunts on his own—they could accomplish more apart than together. And a lone hunter needed his own mode of transportation, after all.

"You were right."

Dean's head looked up—far up—at his tall and younger brother before he stood, making his way around Sam, towards the tools, before facing him. He wasn't smiling. "'Bout what?"

"Bout me and dad. I'm sorry that…the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight."

Dean stopped shuffling around and looked at his brother, actually listening, now. Another dad discussion—just what he wanted. But at least Sam was seeing it right, now. Seeing what Dean saw. More so, anyway.

"I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him," he said, scratching his ear—a nervous tick, more than anything. "I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him. So you're right."

He furrowed his brows, licking his lips as he watched his brother pour it all out, finally telling him how it really was. But he couldn't help but feel a twinge inside him—of what, he couldn't place.

"What I'm doing right now, it is too little, it's too late. I miss him, man." He was getting emotional. He was trying to hold it back, Dean could tell—he knew Sam—but it still broke through, just a little. "And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not alright. Not at all."

Sam drew in a breath, finding it hard to find the right words, the right phrasing. Chick flick moments, as Dean would call them, didn't come easy for them. Feelings came easier to Sam, and he was still having trouble with all this. So for Dean?

"But neither are you. That much I know."

He gave his older brother one last once over before finishing—Dean wasn't going to talk. Not really. He'd tell Sam he was fine, to leave him alone, goddamnit. Sam knew better than to press, at this point.

"I'll let you get back to work."

He made his way to the door of Bobby's house, hearing the banging of metal on metal as he opened the door. It was something.

* * *

"Thanks, Bobby. I really…I really do appreciate this."

She'd been sitting in the passenger's side of the old tow truck for a few hours now, her old friend at the wheel. The man, who was like an uncle to her in so many ways, had driven out when she called, picking up her and the car, and offering her a place to stay for a few days.

He pulled up in front of the old place he called home. It was dark, now, but lights were on inside. He took it as the boys were home from whatever job it was they were working—something about clowns was all he'd gotten from their phone call a couple days ago. Details would come soon, he supposed.

"It's no problem," he said, putting the car in park and looking over at her. "I told you that. Though, you're Daddy wouldn't be exactly pleased with what you done to that car..."

She noticed the lights on in the house, but took it as nothing as Bobby leaving the lights on out of forgetfulness or something like that. He wasn't usually like that, but who knew? She hadn't seen him in months, anyway. She grabbed her bags, clenching her jaw as she used her injured arm.

Still had to patch that damn thing up. She'd almost forgotten.

"Hope you don't mind fightin' the boys for a place to sleep. I let them take the extra bed and cot upstairs, though. You can have the couch."

She then furrowed her brows. Boys? What the hell? Bobby walked inside and she followed as quickly as she could with her bags. "Boys? Who the hell are you—"

"Bobby, hey, you're back," said a deep voice. She looked, baffled, at the tall, muscular man standing in the messy room deemed a library. He closed his book, before pausing at the sight of the short brunette.

"Had to pick up another one of you kids. You'd swear I'm running a goddamn hotel business out here," Bobby said, in jest—mostly. But neither of them were listening. They were looking at each other, too stunned for words.

"Julie?"

"Sam?" she said, looking at the big man who'd replaced her small, quieter, skinnier best friend of the past, the one she hadn't heard from in years. She said the only thing she could think of, "What're you doing here?"

"I told you the boys were here," Bobby said, looking back at her. "I told you in the car, when I picked up you and that nice car of yours you managed to get destroyed."

She gave him a look, "No you didn't. And the car wasn't my fault, I told you."

He rolled his eyes, "Well, I've been driving your ass for hours, so if y'all don't mind, I'm gonna try and get some precious beauty sleep." He shook his head, grabbing a beer from the kitchen and then heading up the creaking stairs to his bed.

* * *

Sam looked at his old friend. She was different. She looked different. So different. She was…grown up. She was still short as he'd last remembered, but she'd grown into her body. And she was older looking—worn out looking, in a way—and her hair…

"So. Long time no see, huh?" she said, breaking the awkward silence and dropping her bags. "Hey, you happen to have a first aid kit 'round here, or know where Bobby's is?"

"Oh, uh, y-yeah, hold on a sec," he stammered out, shaking from his daze and walking to the bathroom, grabbing some of the stuff Bobby had. He came back out and found her at the kitchen table, peeling off her jacket and biting her lip as she untied the makeshift bandage she had around the bloody wound.

"Oh, wow. Here. Let me help you with that," he said, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the counter and pulling up a chair beside her. She was about to protest before deciding against it—she was too tired to argue at this point. "Jesus, Al. What got to you?"

"Demon," she said, shrugging a little, but wincing as he wiped at it to clean off the combination of wet and dried blood around it. He mumbled a low apology, looking up at her for a second. She reached over for the bottle, taking a swig.

"So, you're not at Stanford," she pointed out as he got up to wet the rag a little, to help wash off her arm. He sat down with a slight frown, she noticed.

"Not currently, no," he said, licking his lips as he concentrated on her arm. She set her jaw as he worked at the wound—a straight face. "Went through some changes, I guess."

"And Dean?"

"Upstairs, I think," he said, nonchalantly. He grabbed the needle after prepping her as well as he knew, looking up at her, again. "Ready?"

She took another swig, nodding. "Go for it, cowboy." She bit down, her nostrils flaring, as he pierced her skin—she tried not to make a sound, but by the tightening of her muscles, he could tell she was just being stubborn. That was just like her.

"So you're hunting, again. There's something," she said, struggling a little with her voice as she pressed back a groan. She looked down at his concentrated face—furrowed brows, pressed lips.

"Don't move," he said—she'd twitched, but kept her mouth shut. "And yeah. Long story there, but…here I am with Dean, so…yeah." She reached for the bottle, again, as he came close to finishing up a few minutes later. He reached out, gently bandaging her arm and wrapping it up.

"That should do. Not quite professional, but, you know," he said to the tired girl across from him. He couldn't help but let his gaze linger—it was still mindblowing that she was here, and he was stitching her up and talking to her, when he thought he'd never see her again…

"No, it's…it was fine. Thanks, Sam," she said, snapping him out of it. Again. "Doing it yourself is a bitch. And never comes out pretty. I appreciate the help."

"Yeah, no problem," he said, looking at her face more closely. He noticed the black eye, under her bangs. "Thing really got you, huh?"

"Nah," she said, shaking her head. And for the first time all night, he saw a hint of a smile. "I mean, in comparison to what it got, I think I'm just dandy."

He smiled. She wasn't too different, he supposed.

"Hey, Sam, do you know if Bobby brought back any more…beer…"

His footsteps stopped in the doorway as he looked at the scene before him. His brother and an attractive, yet apparently beaten up brunette. One that, as soon as she looked over at him, he recognized.

"Julie," he said, taken aback.

Her look changed—Sam couldn't place his finger on it, but it wasn't joy, that was for sure. "Dean."

There was a silence. A deafening one. An uncomfortable one.

"Don't think so, Dean. Just Julie."

"I can see that," he said. Sam couldn't read his brother's look, either. It wasn't surprise, like he'd expect, or anger or anything. It was a mix of things.

"Look, I was gonna hit the sack. I've had a bitch of a day, well week really, so…" She was looking at the two boys, more so Sam, not knowing how else to politely boot them from the room. Politeness wasn't the most natural feeling during the latter part of the night, after a long ass day.

Sam stood. "Oh, yeah, right. Yeah, me and Dean should probably do the same. So, um…night."

"Night," she said, watching the boys of her childhood retreat from the room. She shook her head before turning off the lights, plopping down on the couch and, within seconds, succumbing to sweet slumber.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, any of it's characters, or anything else from the series. I only own Julie Davis and her story.**

**AN: Thank you to everyone who read this, and especially those who took the time to review or add it to their alerts (or even favorites!). I'm touched, and I really hope you'll keep reading! I'd really appreciate any feedback you guys might have--but even if you don't have any and just read it, still--thank you!**

* * *

"_Are we seriously going to sit here for hours waiting for _that_ to get up and come with us?" twelve year old Julie Davis whispered to her shaggy haired friend, who was about two years her senior. The age difference was hardly there, though—at least, it didn't feel like it, anyway. She looked across the table to where Sam was sitting, gaping at the lump on the couch._

"_Did you just call my brother a 'that'?" _

"_Does it look human to you?!"_

_They both looked at the snoring mass. One arm was over his head, falling limply behind it, and one arm was curled under him, protectively near his chest. His top leg was bent, as if he was going into the fetal position, while the other was more outstretched, practically hanging off the couch. His mouth was slightly agape, leaving room for drool to escape and his snores to pierce their walls even more._

_Sam's face scrunched up. "Well…alright, fine. We'll just leave him a note, I guess, saying we went to the diner." _

_The girl smiled, following her friend as they tiptoed out of the motel room, undetected._

* * *

"_Do you have chocolate chip pancakes?" _

"_No, just plain." The waitress sounded quite unenthusiastic--three hours on your feet and three more would do that to you. Julie frowned, handing her the menu in her hands. _

"_Fine. Plain pancakes and bacon on the side, please."_

_The waitress walked away, leaving the two kids be. "Think Dean'll wake up while we're gone?"_

"_Probably not," Sam said, taking a sip of his orange juice. "It's a Saturday. He'll sleep as long as he can. There's a chance he won't even be up for dinner."_

"_Nah, I don't think Dean'd ever miss that," she said, giggling. She took the straw that was beside her glass, ripping one end and blowing—sending the wrapper flying into Sam's face. He scrunched up his face in surprise, before taking his discarded wrapper and rolling it up, throwing it at her face. When it caught in her hair, he laughed._

_She huffed, pulling the wrapper from her hair and tossing it back at him, but missing this time. It dropped somewhere below the table._

_He was still laughing, "You're so mature."_

"_Hey, you started it," he pointed out, calming down, but still smirking. "Which makes you equally as immature."_

"_Yeah, but I'm younger, so that only makes sense," she defended herself._

"_Whatever."_

* * *

The sun was poking it's way through the curtain-masked windows, filling the room with streams of yellowing light. Never having been a real heavy sleeper—not since she was a small kid, anyway—Julie stirred, peaking her eyes open, just in slits. Noticing the sudden brightness of the room, she reached for her phone on the ground, beside the beat up old couch—which had more springs jutting out than she had initially thought. She groaned, looking at the time.

**5:52 am.**

It was early. Damn early. But she knew that if she closed her eyes and fought to fall asleep once more, it would be a pointless struggle—by the time she managed to fall into a slumber, everyone else would be up and about and she'd just stir and wake up all over again. She was an uneasy sleeper—she was used to dealing with odd sleeping patterns, by now, anyway.

She pushed herself off the couch, feeling a sharp shot of pain in her arm. She blinked a few times, looking down at the white bandaging around her bicep.

Oh. Right. The demon. Bobby's place.

_The Winchesters._

She shook her head, still trying to shake off the sleepiness that clouded her thoughts and sight. Coffee. That's what she needed—every morning, no matter which east of bumfuck town she was in, she had one necessity—that harsh, hot, brown caffeine that she loved so dearly.

She shuffled into the kitchen, last night's clothes still clinging to her body. Her shirt had a few specks of blood spattered on it, and while it was a little off putting to be walking around with dried blood on your shirt…

She was just too lazy and sore to change, last night. And right now? Well, coffee came first.

She reached up to Bobby's cabinets, searching through them. "C'mon, Bobby, please tell me you at least fucking stock up once in awhile…" she muttered to herself, her voice still froggy.

"Having trouble there?" Amusement was dripping from the statement. She whipped around to see the younger of the two leaning in the doorway, a bemused smirk plastered on his face.

"You really gonna tell me that Bobby doesn't have any coffee in here? How the fuck have you all managed?" she asked, clearly ticked off with the lack of java around here. This was shaping up to be a bad start to the day. A terrible start.

"Easily. Cause, when we got here, there was coffee, but now…"

"So you're to blame for ruining my morning and thus my day."

"How bout, 'Thank you, Sam, for patching me up last night'?" He still sounded slightly amused by all this—she could still read him just as well as she could when she was a kid.

"Oh, please. I would've done it myself. You just…were there and happened to offer, and I was tired."

_She's still stubborn._ He shook his head, "C'mon, grab your jacket."

"Why should I?"

"Apparently someone needs coffee to be even remotely pleasant," he said, matter-of-factly, grabbing his coat and the keys to Bobby's truck.

_Well, there's an offer I can't refuse._

* * *

"Of course you still order the same breakfast you did when you were twelve."

Julie looked up from her syrup drowned pancakes and three slices of bacon—make that two and a half. She held up the half eaten piece of bacon, looking at him. "Hey, this is the breakfast of gods. I knew it then and I still know that now."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. There were so many things different about the girl sitting in front of him from the girl he knew all those years ago. But little things, like her breakfast of choice, showed him that she was still little Julie Davis, the quiet brunette who'd stayed up late talking about books and making fun of Dean with him.

He still couldn't ignore, however, the looming awkward between them. They could joke around about pancakes all day—but until they talked about things, the weight would still be there.

"So, I'm taking it as you're putting the hot shot lawyer deal on hold, huh?" she bumbled, mid chew, lifting her mug for a sip of hot, sweet coffee.

He looked down at his scrambled eggs, pushing them around his plate. "Yeah, I needed a break from that. Needed time to figure things out, y'know?"

"Such a detailed explanation," she said, sarcastically--of course. She was fluent. It may have seemed rude from anyone else, and it was the slightest from her, he supposed—but it was Julie. She wasn't just anyone else.

He gave a weak smile, tossing in the towel on skidding around the past. "My girlfriend…she was killed while I was away with Dean for a weekend. The same way my mom was killed."

She stopped chewing and swallowed the mass in her mouth. Well, she hadn't exactly expected that. And now she was feeling guilty for the inquisition. "Oh, Sam, I…I had no idea. I'm sor—"

He cut her off, shaking his head. "It's fine, it's okay. But, after that, I needed a break. So, I hit the road with Dean and here we are a year later."

"You're dad must be happy, having you hunting again. Three Winchesters fighting evil together," she said, smiling a little, trying to provoke one from him. But she could easily tell when the one he pushed was fake.

"He's…not? Or does he not know?"

"Um, he passed away, actually," he said, looking down at the brown liquid, again.

"When?" There was shock in her voice. A gasp.

"Almost two weeks ago."

_What a way with words you have there, Julie._Now, she just felt plain old shitty. This time, she reached out, grabbing one of his hands from the mug. His head snapped up, as if getting some sort of electric shock from the touch, and was greeted with a warm, sympathetic look.

"Apparently I'm not very good at this whole catch up thing," she finally said, crinkling her nose. "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am. For them and for how hard it must be for you…and for bringing all of it up."

"It's alright. Really. I'm fine."

"I'm sure," she said, simply. Nonchalantly, really. She didn't believe a word of it, but she wasn't going to fight him on it, right now. She pulled back, taking her mug into her hands and sipping, again. He looked at her hands and noticed something that made him smirk.

"Nice ring you got there," he said, gesturing the simple, silver band on her right hand. A grin came over her face to match his.

"Thanks. An old friend of mine gave it to me."

* * *

"I think this means we're even, Winchester. You patched me up, I paid for breakfast…we're square."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, putting the car into park as they pulled in front of Bobby's house, again. Julie squinted to see a form out in the junk yard—it was squatting, and in the sun, but she could still guess who it was. Who else would even be close to the Impala? Dean wouldn't allow it. She looked at Sam, who was staring out at his brother and the car, as well. His expression seemed flat.

She didn't question the condition the car was in. Not now, anyway. Sam had filled in some more blanks of the story—a car crash, Dean near death, Dean miraculously waking up, and John mysteriously dropping. He'd poured it all out to her, like they were teens, again, confessing life stories in a shitty motel room.

"He's probably gonna want this," she said, grabbing the bag filled with Dean's breakfast—it only seemed right to grab the older brother something—Bobby wasn't much of a breakfast guy, and neither of them knew what he wanted, anyway. Sam nodded, making his own way inside the house while she went around the side, towards the lot.

She let her footsteps make loud crunches on the gravel so her presence would be known—and Dean noticed from the light brown boots on the tiny feet that it wasn't his brother, nor Bobby. "Thanks for the invite to breakfast. I really appreciated it," he called out sarcastically from below. She rolled her eyes, crouching down so he could see the bag in her hand.

He rolled out from under and sat up, grabbing the bag from her. "It's not my fault that you're sleeping habits are the same from when you were 15. We didn't want to wake you."

"Yeah," was all he replied with, digging into the bag. There was an air of awkwardness between Sam and Julie, but it was small enough to joke around, for the time being.

But between Dean and Julie? There was less room to squeeze around.

He stood up, leaning against the car and eating the piece of sausage from the bag, while she leaned against another nearby car—or, what used to be one, anyway. She kicked some dirt beneath her, the only sound amongst them being his chewing. His loud, obnoxious chewing.

"I heard about your dad," she finally said, trying to see if he'd show any emotion—but she wasn't expecting it. She got what she'd expected. "I'm sorry, Dean. I really am."

He was fighting back the urge to snap at her, like he had at everyone else. After the last time something like this happened, it didn't end pretty between them—at all. And he knew she was only trying to be nice.

"I'm fine," he said, repeating the same bit Sam had fed her. She didn't blame them—she'd done the same. She was no expert at opening up and being vulnerable, by any means.

"Yeah," she said, just tossing it off, for now. "Look, Dean, I—"

She couldn't get the words out. She didn't really know what to say. She was just utterly and completely uncomfortable with the massive space between them. And by the look he was giving her, she could tell he wasn't exactly feeling at ease, himself. But neither seemed to come up with the right words.

"For what happened a few years ago...I'm sorry about that, too."

He crinkled his brows, looking at her as if she had two heads. "You're apologizing to me for your dad dying?"

"No, Dean," she said, annoyed he wasn't getting it. That or he was a damn good actor. "I'm just sorry that…I mean, it wasn't your fault, and I knew that, I was just upset and I wanted to blame you and your dad, God did I, but…it wasn't your fault."

He still remembered that day. How could he forget? Hell, he remembered those last few moments with her down to every last fucking detail. Every word, every sound, every smell…

"_What kind of partners were you, huh?! How could you not fucking look out for him?! He considered you his family! FAMILIES LOOK OUT FOR EACH OTHER!" she screamed at Dean. John was behind him, knowing to keep his mouth shut._

"_Julie, we tried, we did, but—"_

"_Shut up, Dean! Shut the fuck up! He was the last thing I had! He was the only fucking person I had left! He was all I had and now he's gone because you two didn't—"_

"_Jules, we—"_

"_I don't give a shit what you have to say!" she screamed at him, stepping closer. He swallowed the lump in his throat, the guilt—but it wouldn't go away. It only grew, seeing the girl who was so like a little sister to him scream at him and blame him for her father's death. If he could take back the past few days…if only…_

"_Get the fuck out of here," she growled. "Both of you. Go!"_

"_Dean, let's go," John said, solemnly, behind his son. Dean gave his glaring friend one last look before getting into his Impala—and his father into his own truck. _

_Julie slammed the apartment door before they even had a chance to rev their engines._

"You were upset," he said, shrugging. "We should've been more careful."

"He should've been more careful," she clarified, before sighing. "It's part of being a hunter, taking those constant risks. It was bound to happen, and what happened happened and it can't be changed. It might've taken me awhile to accept that, but…I just want you to know that I don't blame you. Or your dad."

They both stared at each other for a few minutes, under the blistering sun, just studying the differences and similarities of the past and present.

"Do we have to hug now?" Dean finally said, breaking the mood. There was a grimace on his face. Julie laughed, shoving him lightly. But almost immediately after, she pulled back in his larger form—compared to Sam, maybe he was short, but to her, he was massive, still—and hugged him, only for a few moments. He groaned, hugging her back, still.

"Oh please, you totally wanted that."

"Shut up."


End file.
